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" Fm a-gltten on," Mr. Grimes said, straightening up. He
was a spare-made man, and the faded blue shirt hung loosely
about his shoulders. His eyes were a pure, used-up blue,
faded like the colour of the shirt. He had long, ragged, red-
dish moustaches which wagged extravagantly when he spoke.
" A-gitten on," he repeated, " nigh onto sixty, and I seen a
lot oŁ terbacker. Hit's a-bout all I know, I reckin. And I
seen a lot pore-er terbacker'n this-here in ray time."

"Yes," Mr. Munn said.

"This patch of ground here"—and he moved his slow gaze
up the slight rise, across the earth where nothing now showed
but the blunt stobs—"I alluz say, if'n they ain't but one
hand of terbacker growed, hit'll be growed here. I seen a lot
of different places in my time, and I put a plough-point in a lot
of diffrem pieces of ground, but I say, let a man break
ground along this-here crick. Give God's will and weather,
and hit'll git him a little somethen fer his sweat."

" It's good enough ground," Mr. Munn agreed. He looked
down at it, at his feet, as though discovering it. He laid the
plant he held on the ground, with the other plants that were
wilting there. One of the negroes passed down the next row
with an armful of tobacco sticks. With a clatter he dropped
the staves there between the rows, and began to rack up the
plants already cut there. Mr. Munn bent to his task. He
felt the sun on his back, even through his shirt, and on the
back of his neck. He thought of the season's changing, how
it would be not so long, and took a relish in this last heat on
his flesh.

" Yeah," Mr. Grimes said, " goen on thirty-six years ago, I
set a stand of terbacker in this selfsame field. Fer yore
pappy. And hit made out a good crop. But I moved on.
But I come back here twicet afore this-here present time.
Hit looks lak a young feller gits restless and moves on. No
matter what kinder ground he's got to work. Hit looks

"I reckon so," Mr. Munn remarked, scarcely hearing,
bending with the knife.